A cover slipped, that grim smile,
that expands as acceptance grows.
A mild washing of thoughts cleanses
each person of the dust that lead to false
liberty; it's now blown into clouds of denial.
One by one, each item falls like faded leaves,
almost expected, due to the grace of that one
offering, that blinkers judgment, and would
excuse starvation if carried far enough.
Their message flashes in multi-colour,
with each view that changes in their favour.
Pockets stripped empty by blood-clotted
fingers, that never seem to reach the bottom.
Again, they hold court over thousands,
the blank crowds that soak up each word
like torn sponge, that leaks out over decades,
and creates a stain we can never seem to remove.
Jonathan Butcher is a poet based in Sheffield, England.
He has had poetry appear in various publications including:
The Rye Whiskey Review, Mad Swirl, Drunk Monkeys,
The Morning Star, Popshot and others. His third chapbook
'Corroded Gardens' was published by Fixator Press.
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